Of Memories, Quilts and Christmas Past
by Blue-eyesThropp
Summary: Professor Xavier has a quilt that was given to him one year for Christmas. Each square was handmade by a student, featuring something to do with their powers. The adults made squares too- even Logan. New students add their squares at the next Christmas. It's the Professor's most treasured item. After forty years, it is filled with memories upon memories. Yet one square is missing.


**Author's Note: Merriest Christmas greetings to all you mutant brothers and sisters out there!  
><strong>**A while ago, I found this prompt **( post/94290318887/ceallaig1-professor-xavier-has-a-quilt-that) **on the internet** **and, although I'm more in touch with my inner Ebeneezer Scrooge than ever this year, I though I could use the prompt to write at least a bitter-sweet Christmas story. This year round, it's an X-men story (my last X-mas story was a Wicked fanfic). I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you all had a great Christmas with family, frends, lvoed ones, your cats, or simply on your own.**

**Oh, and, reviews are the best Christmas gifts anyone could wish for! ;-) **  
><strong>Tonnes of love and yuletide greeting, <strong>  
><strong>Blue-eyes xxx<strong>

**Disclaimer: For entert****ainment purposes only. No profit. I own nothing. You know the**** drill.**

**Prompt/Summary: Professor Xavier has a quilt that was given to him one year for Christmas. Each square was handmade by a student, featuring something to do with their powers. The adults made squares too- even Logan. New students add their squares at the next Christmas. It's the Professor's most treasured item.**** After forty years, it is filled with memories upon memories. Yet there is one suqare missing...**

Of Memories, Quilts and Christmas Past

Charles Xavier was all wrapped up in a tartan housecoat and silken pyjamas, grey slippers adorning his feet and a home knitted scarf around his neck. Outside, a positively blinding snow storm raged on, but inside the Xavier mansion- the haven he had built for himself, his colleagues and his students, and any mutant brother or sister seeking refuge- the old fireplaces roared in every room. Christmas Eve was coming to an end, but the smell of cinnamon and turkey lingered the air, and the whole house was filled with a calm contentedness that Charles liked very much. He was sat in his wheelchair just in front of his ebony king-size bed, smiling happily to himself, whether from festive cheer or the good eggnog he'd shared just a few splashes too many of with Logan, or perhaps a mixture of the two, he himself did not quite know.

The Professor stretched a hand out towards his bed and let it fall slowly onto the patchwork quilt that lay atop his duvet. It was a badly stitched thing, if he was honest. Different coloured threads held the individual squares together, and the stitching differed so greatly in quality that it was definitely noticeable to even the most inexperienced person that not one person, but many, many people had made this quilt. The squares at the top dated back to the 1960's, and were faded and beginning to tear; the ones closer to Charles were brand new, some having been added just that evening. Still, with all its imperfections and irregularities, it was the Professor's most treasured possession.

Professor Xavier had taught at his school for gifted youngsters since he had been a young man. Almost forty years of work had been documented on that one quilt. He remembered vividly, as though it hadn't been nearly half a century ago, how the quilt had started.

_"__Merry Christmas, Charles," Hank beamed through blue fur as he handed his friend a small, colourfully wrapped package. It was Christmas Day, 1962, and Alex Summers and Sean Cassidy were seated on the sofa opposite the Professor, while Hank had chosen a less comfortable spot on the floor next to him, presumably so that he would not feel alone next to the Christmas tree in his wheelchair. However, although Charles would never let it show, lest he hurt Hank's feelings- for the Beast that he took himself to be, Hank McCoy was still a sensitive youth- the gesture had quite the opposite effect to the desired one. All the previous night and throughout the entire duration of the morning, while gifts had been exchanged and food enjoyed Charles Xavier hat sat hunched over his knees in a treadbare jumper, silently nursing a glass of whiskey that had filled up goodness knows how many times, internally despising everyone's cheeriness. How could they be so happy, after everything that had gone on in the last year? Just because it was Christmas? It made the recently injured telepath sick to his very core. _

_Still, he accepted the gift from his friends with a small nod of thanks. He wiped a strand of hair- when had it grown so long anyway?- out of his haggard face before proceeding to carefully slit open the sellotaped wrapping paper with his forefinger. The package was soft, and he couldn't for the life of him guess what it might be. _

_The content of the parcel was unusual, to say the least. Three squares of wool stitched together in a horizontal row. One of them featured two rings in red cross-stitch- or at least, something that tried very hard to be cross-stitch- the second one featured a grey dish of some sort, and the third one, possibly the most perplexing of them all, was knitted our of blue, fringed wool. _

_"__It's a quilt," Sean burst out, "well; it's going to be a quilt."_

_Hank interrupted him, "We had the idea when you opened the school. Every year, your students can make you a new square, featuring their powers or an experience they had at the school. The first three are Sean's, Alex's and my own. We've got Havoc's rings, the satellite dish and… well, I guess you know which one is mine." _

_Charles realized very quickly that the gift was a feeble attempt at motivating him to find new students, a task he had been avoiding for months now. He was still in therapy, having just returned home from the hospital, and although his friends had expressed their opinion that teaching would help him get back into the rhythm of a normal life inspite of his new disability, Charles simply couldn't see himself caring for a school full of children in his current state. Still, he couldn't suppress an amused eyebrow raise at the fluffy blue square. Hank really did have a sense of humour._

_"__It's a bit crap right now, really," Alex's deep voice interrupted Charles' thoughts, "it was Bozo's idea anyway. Might get better in time though, right, X?" _

_Charles nodded slowly. He could not take his eyes off the squares in his hand. No matter what had happened over the last few months, disregarding the fact that he had lost Erik, his adopted sister, Raven, his legs and the fight for his ideals, in his hands, Charles Xavier held the proof that good times had been had, new friends had been made and alliances formed, and the fact that there was always hope- hope for better days to come. For a completed quilt, so to speak. It was the first time in months that Professor X really, truly smiled. _

The Professor wheeled his chair around to the side of the bed. While he gave each students and colleague a little something on Christmas Day morning, they added their suqares to his quilt on Christmas Eve before going to bed. Mostly, the squares seemed to get lost within the entirety of the quilt, but certain ones stuck out, and he always knew exactly where they were. Naturally, there were the first three, the most worn and faded patches of them all; Charles' favourites. Then, there was a red square with a large J embroidered on it. This was Jean Grey's square. Jean had been his first official student when the school re-opened again after Vietnam and Charles' long self-rehabilitation after he stopped abusing the serum Hank had created to allow him to walk. She had not known how to depict her varied powers on one patch. Charles remembered the tears he had to watch her shed as she desperately tried to finish her patch, long after the other children had; how many squares she had thrown away. Jean had always been a perfectionist, always trying to everything perfectly, which why she had, in the end, opted for such a simple design. Only when the students added their squares on Christmas day did the Professor realize that the quilt had been the reason Jean had been upset for so many days near the Yuletide, and while he felt guilty that his Christmas gift should have been the cause of upset, he was equally flattered that Jean card so much for him- she was not a girl who became easily attached to other people. He had taken her into his arms and whispered warm thanks into her ear, which had put a rare, broad smile on the red-headed girl's face.

That same year, Scott Summers and Ororo Monroe- fondly known as Cyclops and Storm, respectively, had places their square on the quilt: while Scott's was, so he had told the Professor, supposed to depict the visor that Charles had made for him upon his entry into the school, it looked more like a curved red line in between two curved black lines. Still, they were neatly knitted for a boy of Scott's age. Storm's patch, on the other hand, was a singular work of art. It was a square of thick, mocha coloured felt with a pair of dark eyes stitched onto it. The eyes had been covered by a white, gauzy material, and white wool had been artfully draped around the top and sides of the square, skilfully sewn onto the top side, to suggest white hair.

Further towards the foot of the bed, Charles spied a newer edition to the quilt, dating only a few years and about six rows back. The Professor chuckled when he remembered the story attached to it.

_"And then you pull the needle out, and start the whole thing again," Charles heard Ororo explaining to someone as he wheeled past one of the many common rooms. He stopped his chair to peer in. There were two sofas in the room; one- the one on which Storm was sat, cross legged and smiling, engrossed in her knitting- facing him, the other with its back to the door. Charles detected the faint scent of burnt out cigars and could see the meticulous hairdo of his most recent student; the young man's head was trained downwards in concentration, his arms moving vigorously up and down. The man on the sofa growled and grunted in frustration. _

_Presently, Professor Xavier heard him say, "Oh for fu..."_

_"Logan," Charles warned, wheeling into the room, "there are children roaming the halls. I trust you will choose your vocabulary wisely, unless you wish to spend a year under the impression that you are a cat."_

_Logan swivelled his head around to look Charles in the eye. The professor was, of course, smiling, and only speaking in jest, which relaxed the Wolverine._

_"My dear Ororo, what on earth are you doing to poor Logan?" Charles asked. From behind the sofa, he saw that Storm was repairing an embroidered square that had evidently been made by one of the students._

_"Oh dear! You aren't still carrying on with that quilt are you?"_

_Storm smiled sheepishly up at her mentor, "I'm afraid we are, Professor." She was slowly losing her accent, but there was still residual trace of it left._

_"You really don't have to keep that silly tradition going every year, you know?"_

_"Trust me, prof, I'm with you on that one," Logan grumbled, handing his knitting needles to Storm so that she could cast on for him- unbeknownst to Charles, this was Logan's eleventh try, and while Storm was mildly amused by the Wolverines ironic incompetence with the long, metal needles, Logan's patience tether was decidedly frayed, "but she's making me."_

_"It's a tradition, Logan," Storm said soothingly, "and it is for the Professor."_

_"Nevertheless," Charles said, "it is Christmas Eve tonight. Logan, you really don't have to partake..."_

_"Yeah, but I'm gonna! I'll be damned if I surrender to some knitting."_

_Both Charles and Ororo tried not to laugh, snorting simultaneously instead, which prompted and angry glare from Logan._

_"I'm not suggesting you... surrender," offered the Professor, "merely that you take your time, shall we say, until next year, if you insist on following this old tradition."_

_"I'm finishing this piece of-" Logan stopped himself from cussing when he saw Charles Xavier's stern glance, and attempted to cover the slip up, " of... quilt... tonight."_

_And indeed, that night, when the students came up to Charles' bedroom- it was the one time a year they were allowed into their teacher's private quarters and the only time they ever caught a glimpse of him in anything but a finely tailored suit- along with the new staff members to add their square to the quilt, Logan proudly presented an uneven, black patch of knitting with three grey lines that were anything but straight on the right and left side of the square. Charles assumed these- he could only describe them as squiggles- were supposed to be adamantium claws, and he gave Logan an affectionate pat on the back; if not for the final result, at least for not having given up and having tried his best. In the face of adversity, whether in the form of Magneto or of needles and wool, Charles Xavier knew that he could count on his Wolverine to never admit defeat._

So many unique squares decorated the quilt today. Cat ears, a tail above a cross-stitch heart inside a red brick wall from Kitty Pryde. Marie-or Rogue- had made a handprint with fabric paint on her square- sometimes, Charles would let his hand rest on Marie's square, forming the closest thing to a physical bond that he could with the girl who could touch no one. Flames from Pyro, icicles from Bobby. Clouds, initials, spirals, sparks, lightning... the quilt was full of the most diverse pictograms imaginable. And now, after forty years plus, it was so long and wide that it hung of Charles' bed on all sides. The quilt was definitely complete- but for on square missing from the bottom right hand corner. Although Charles did not consider himself obsessive or compulsive, he did find the one empty space more than a little irksome.

Charles gave a hearty yawn, and decided that it really was time for bed. Presently, just as the Professor had swung himself onto the bed and was rearranging his legs on the sheets, he heard a knock on his door. It was very late; surely, Charles though, any calls at such an hour could only be of the utmost importance.

"Come in," he called out, cordially. It was Rogue who entered his room. She seemed a little hesitant at first, and Charles considerately covered himself with the quilt. It was not always comfortable for the students to see a teacher as human and, in a way, as vulnerable as sitting on their bed in pyjamas.

"I'm sorry Professor," Rogue mumbled, protruding a thick but small parcel from behind her back, "but this came to the door. It's for you."

The telepath held out his hand and Marie slowly approached him. The parcel was addressed to _Charles Xavier_; no more, no less.

"Who dropped it off?"

"That's the thing. No one did. The door bell went and I answered it. This was on the steps but there wasn't anyone around. A few of us checked it downstairs though, it doesn't seem dangerous or nothing."

"Very well. Thank you Marie, you can go back to Bobby downstairs. Good night. And Merry Christmas to all of you down there. Tell the boys not to go to heavy on the liqueur, yes?" He winked at Rogue and watched her leave before turning his attention to the mysterious parcel.

He opened the brown wrapping paper to find a folded up letter lying atop another layer of brown paper. Charles opened up the letter, not without some trepidation, and read it.

_Hello old friend,  
>I know, as do you, that I am not the sentimental type, yet it has come to my attention that your students have been making you a quilt for some time now. And so, in the spirit of Christmas and of friendship, I hereby offer my contribution. After all, no one has experience quite what you and I have experienced together, Charles, old boy. Mind you, I'm not gifted with a needle and thread. I had to turn to a certain lady for assistance. Who knew your sister was such a seamstress? Merry Christmas, Charles,<br>Erik L._

Charles let the letter sink slowly into his lap, his eyes staring at it all the while, transfixed. He opened the second layer of simple brown paper with unsteady hands...

A multitude of quilted works of art spilled out onto Charles' knees. He lifted them up and regarded them one by one. Here was a square adorned with a chess piece, here a flying anchor above clashing waves. A helmet and a magnet decorated one square, the words _Rage and Serenity_ another. One square sported a decal of Darwin's evolutionary theory- a line of the developmental stages from Australopithecus Aphaeresis to Homo Sapiens, followed by an embroidery question mark and, underneath it, the words, _MUTANT AND PROUD. _Another square was, painfully but accurately, embroidered with a single, shiny cotton bullet. There was even one with a steaming cup of hot chocolate, which Charles did not understand at first, but then he remembered the night he first met Raven Darkholme, and the memory of her feeble attempt at impersonating his otherwise distanced mother brought a sad, nostalgic smile to his lips.

Charles Xavier sighed deeply and, since he was alone, did not bother to suppress the tremor in his sigh. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the memories, fond and unpleasant alike, of days gone by build up behind them in a wall of dampness, before he settled into the goose feather pillows, embroidered squares lying scattered next to his head, and extinguished the light.

Although he was sure he wouldn't be heard, Charles whispered into the darkness, "Merry Christmas, Erik."

Finally, his quilt was complete.

_**Wishing you all a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year! Stay mutant and proud! xxx**_


End file.
